


Movie Night

by deepandlovelydark



Series: Second Chances [12]
Category: MacGyver (TV 1985)
Genre: 1980s, Angst, Internalized Homophobia, M/M, Movie Night, Prison, Romance, Smuggling, Western, queer
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-12-20
Updated: 2018-01-07
Packaged: 2019-02-16 22:56:50
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 4,777
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13063911
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/deepandlovelydark/pseuds/deepandlovelydark
Summary: Everyone in Mission City knows the score: Mac’s the sober sort, whereas Jack drinks like a fish.Except on Tuesdays, when it’s the other way around.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> After the divorce, before Becky's arrival. 
> 
> All the same warnings as for "Second Chances" (profanity, mature content, and Mac's gay self-doubt, along with small-mindedness trying to encourage same).

_February_

"But our birthday was last month. And 'Sunset Boulevard' isn't even a Western!"

"I know, but you try telling Penny Parker anything."

*****************

_March_

"I always meant to ask- when you started dying your hair blonde after that crewcut fiasco, was it just because you liked Clint Eastwood's character that much?"

"That'd be silly. I wanted a change, that's all."

"You sure?"

"Okay. Maybe a bit."

*****************

_April_

"I roped a steer once. In Texas."

"Jack, I don't mind hearing it again, but why d'you always start out like I've never heard it before?"

"Y'know, drunkenness is supposed to excuse everything."

"Everything, huh?"

*****************

_May_

"Geez. It would have been our anniversary, tomorrow."

"Cheer up. I bought some extra bourbon."

"How much?"

“Will two gallons be enough?”

*****************

_June_

The first Tuesday in June, Edith orders her mid-morning coffee with something approaching righteous zeal. A real Missionary, in every sense. She is here to save Angus MacGyver from himself. 

He's worth redeeming. A regular church-goer, a reliable contributor to charitable causes, and all in all, an upstanding, moral member of the community. Except for these little Tuesday deviancies, and they do seem so out of character. 

"Because Hans and I would be happy to have you over for dinner," she says, over her milky drink. "I'm sure it must be lonely for you at nights, without a wife to make you any nice home-cooked meals."

His mouth quirks. "Tell the truth, I'm a better cook than Ellen ever will be. Now if you asked whether I miss having someone to do the hoovering, that'd be a different question."

She won't allow herself to be deterred by his little jokes. “But still, won’t you come over? This very night, if you like. I'm planning a lovely piece of brisket."

He looks thoughtful. "Oh, you could probably talk me into that, sure. Only not tonight. I'm always busy Tuesdays."

"Tuesdays were what I had in mind," she says stiffly. "I could perhaps understand if you had nowhere else to turn for friends, but just on this street there's half a dozen respectable families who would be glad of your company. Good, solid people who aren't-"

"Who aren't Jack Dalton, huh? Let me tell you something, Jack might be an incorrigible good for nothing, but he's the most loyal friend a guy could ask for. So you can hint all you like, I'm still gonna go down and see him just as often as I want."

Why must he make this such a blunt, nasty affair? "Poor Ellen," she murmurs.

"What?" he asks sharply. 

"There's a great deal of talk at the sewing circle. Whether the divorce was entirely about the bankruptcy, or if it was something- worse. I stuck up for you, of course. I said that you'd show yourself to be normal enough, if only we'd all give you the chance."

"Oh, you didn't need to go to an effort like that. People might love their gossiping, but live and let live, right?"

His voice is calm enough, his expression reserved. She'd almost believe he doesn't mind her words at all. 

He turns away from her, fumbles with a teacup. It falls to the floor and shatters. 

Almost. 

************

Jack starts whistling to himself, off-key, as he bangs the supermarket trolley around a corner. Sarsaparilla, popcorn, margarine. Cheaper than butter, and it melts better too. 

Lube. French letters. He’s carelessly fucked a lot of people- enough to leave him on tenterhooks, considering this GRID thing that’s been making the news- but Mac hasn’t. One of several very good reasons for him to stay sober on Tuesdays; he wouldn’t trust himself to be careful enough, if he got drunk.

(God knows, Mac isn’t careful at all once he’s had a few. Another reason not to drink: he doesn’t want to ever wake up wondering if he heard a no and decided to ignore it. It’s bad enough asking himself that question about the odd one-night stand, let alone his best friend.)

A TV dinner for him, some fried chicken for Mac. Who won’t eat at all some nights, depending on how fast he wants to get blotto, but it’s just as well to have. For lunch tomorrow, if nothing else. 

“Some party you’re planning, huh?” the cashier ventures. 

“Angling for an invite?” Jack asks cheerily. Almost the right type- tall and a bit athletic, and a face that flickers from withdrawn to smiling in a moment-

The guy draws back, squeaking apologies. 

************

The coffee shop is the obvious place for a tryst. Cosy and warm, full of tasty snacks, and radiating a cheerful, homely atmosphere. Deliberately so: his bread and butter relies on people constantly returning for another hit of caffeine and domesticity. 

But Jack’s too lazy to stir from home on movie night, and for that Mac is endlessly grateful. 

The trailer’s exactly what might be expected from someone who has been half-planning to leave next week, for the last fifteen years. A messy scrawl of a place, garbage and clothes and everything piled up higgledy-piggledy. Peeling pin-ups on the walls- always girls, for some reason. A sunset, painted on black velvet (of course it’s tacky; of course it’s melancholic). The comfiest broken old couch in existence. This place’s crazy paving breaks through Mission City’s small-town bubble like nothing else, and that always gets him excited. 

Like being young again, when he just wanted to get out there and see every country on the map. Love and longing, sex and travel. 

Along with Jack, of course. 

************

“So,” Jack says, vainly trying to plump up a flattened cushion. “What are we watching tonight?”

Vital question. If it’s a Leone, it means Mac actually wants to watch a Western (though they’re pretty well aware by now where the slow bits come in, and how to make best use of them). If it’s “The Magnificent Seven,” that’s their ticket for a night of chattiness and giggles. If it’s “Butch Cassidy,” they won’t even pretend to be taking it seriously. 

“I dunno,” Mac says listlessly, pouring himself a second whiskey. “Why don’t you pick for a change?”

He’s moving much too fast, for a guy who only indulges once a week. "It depends. Wanna tell me what’s bothering you first?"

“Gossip. No, I don’t want to.”

“Say you tell me anyway.”

Mac sighs, settles himself on the couch. “I wish they’d put out ‘Badlands’. I loved that film.”

“That was set in the ‘50s, wasn’t it? Lots of cars, as I recall.”

“But close enough. How about ‘Heaven’s Gate?’ I’m not really in the mood for anything good tonight.”

Three and a half hours, sweet lord. “If you say so, sure.”

“No. I’m just...oh, hell, I’m not drunk enough yet,” Mac says, looking at his bourbon with distaste. “Edith was at the shop today, making insinuations about us.”

“Butting in, huh? Rude double entendres are my job,” Jack says with a chuckle. 

“She was sort of hinting that the town might start getting the wrong idea, if I don’t clean up my act. Mostly meaning you.”

“Uh-huh.”

“It’s not the first time I’ve heard stuff like that, lately...Jack, I’m scared.”

“Sure you are. Catering to people like her is what keeps your shop in business. Mac, if you think-”

“I’m scared that I’ve been stuck in this stupid town for so long, I might talk myself into losing you.”

There is a dignified six-inch gap between them, on the sofa. Mac carefully moves himself over, until it disappears. 

“Because if I let you go, if I just give in- Jack, help me. I don’t want it to be like this, I don’t want to need three drinks before I can say I love you.”

This isn’t the arrangement of words he was expecting.

"Don’t let me give you up. Please."

Jack murmurs comforting nothings, runs his hands through a soft mullet while wondering what to do. His gambler's instinct is screaming at him: this is the time to call bluff. All he's gotta do is push a little harder. Be a little more camp, do something really outrageous- and Mac won't have any choice but to close up shop. And come south with him. 

Perfect plan. Marred only by one thing: that's all long-term, delayed gratification stuff. 

Whereas Mac is sobbing against his shoulder right here and now, and it's breaking his heart. 

_Jack Dalton, you really are an idiot sometimes._

“Mac, it’s okay,” he promises. “I’ll take care of it. Trust me. Everything’s going to be all right.”

Jack holds his lover close, thin shivery body against his own warm one. Summoning up every bit of reassurance that two decades of roguery have taught him. Tone, more than words. Soothing the mark’s troubles, promising the moon. Of course, this time he’s using all the tricks just to tell the truth. 

Maybe Mac’s got a point, about this honesty business. Feels kinda good.

************

“You said Edith’s the ringleader,” Jack inquires, as he puts “The Good, the Bad and the Ugly” into the player and nestles back next to Mac. “The postman’s wife?”

“Yeah.”

“Well. Let’s see how she copes, once I’ve turned the genuine hi-fi hundred-proof Jack Dalton charm on her. She oughta be off your back in no time.”

Mac starts with spluttering, ends by laughing. “No way! Sixty if she’s a day, and all prunes and prisms- I mean, you couldn't possibly enjoy that.”

“Sure. You know what, though? You’re worth it.”

“Oh, this is so screwed up.”

“Welcome to my world. Speaking of which...” Jack murmurs, and starts rummaging for the condoms. 

They never do actually watch the movie, but that’s rather besides the point. 

************

The gossip at the sewing circle doesn’t exactly die down, once Edith lets it be known that that Jack Dalton is a perfectly lovely, if roguish fellow. It just shifts into speculative inquisitiveness about where Edith learned that charming style of wearing lipstick, and what Hans is going to do to Dalton if he ever gets ‘round to noticing. 

Across town, Ellen, née MacGyver, breathes a quiet sigh of relief. It would have done not the slightest good to anyone had she mentioned it, but she can’t help being relieved by how matters have turned out. 

Because what would Mac even do, without anyone to love?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I wasn't sure whether an SC Mac would be a believer or not- I still don't know, actually- but church would make the neighbours happy and also be a great time for him to daydream about new inventions. 
> 
> So I figure he probably does.


	2. Chapter 2

So okay, he loves Mac; but that doesn’t mean Jack goes to him for life advice. At least not exclusively. Mac’s record on important decisions is about the worst of anybody Jack knows, and that includes his own.

No, when he needs a second opinion he goes to Katie. Owner of the Wingman Bar, a few towns over, one a little bigger and more laidback than Mission City. His usual hunting grounds when he was on the pull, before Mac and Ellen had divorced. Since then he’s mostly given up coming; Mac’s big on monogamy, and it takes too much self-control to just smile and wink at the ladies every time. (One regularly scheduled broadcast a week can get awfully frustrating.)

“Thought you’d have forgotten about me,” he says one Monday night, as Katie pours him his regular.

“Jack Junior’s father? Now how would I forget a thing like that?” 

It’s a running gag; she doesn’t know or much care which of the several guys she’d had going was the dad. He’d been the only one to offer to marry her afterwards, though. She’d laughed herself sick turning him down (“a half-share in my bar? Not on your life, Jack Dalton!”). But it’s been a sort of bond between them ever since. “How’s the kid doing?”

“Fine. Fine. One of these days I’ll be bringing him into the bar, and then he’ll start seeing some life.”

She’s just the sort to do it, too. It’s possible that he doesn’t actually know the kind of people who makes sensible decisions; but Katie’s utterly happy with her flirtatious, drinks-slinging, drunks-tossing business, and that strikes him as a pretty good metric. “Better watch out. You’ll have the whole crowd buying him drinks.”

“Then I’ll drink them all for him,” Katie says. “All right, Jack, what’s on your mind?”

“Got sort of a decision to make. I’ve got an idea. I’d have to raise a little working capital-”

“You better not have me in mind. You get one free drink, not a free loan.”

“No, wasn’t thinking that,” Jack agrees. “Though you did say you liked the looks of my cab. Would it be worth my while scraping off the decals?”

“Could do,” Katie admits. “I’m afraid to step into the Bug too hard these days, in case my foot goes through it. But that’s your livelihood, isn’t it? Whenever your scams fall through?”

“Sure, but I think I got it good this time. Once I have the setup cash, I’ll be able to hook in the sucker no problem...now this is the kicker. For my getaway afterwards, I get myself arrested. Really, genuinely arrested, locked up in the slammer for a year or so. The guy’s so scared of prison himself, he’ll never think anyone would do it on purpose. It’s pretty well foolproof.”

“You say that about every one of these things.”

“And most of them come off, except when I’m running it a little carelessly. This one I won’t be careless about. It’ll be good enough to buy me a plane, if I play my cards right.”

“Not bad if you can do it,” Katie allows. “Are you sure about the money?”

“As eggs is eggs, we’re talking more dough then I’ve ever had in my life. Then Mac sells the shop for the first few months of operating expenses, and Dalton Air is all set. Goodbye snow, hello sunshine.”

“So what’s the kicker? I don’t see what you’ve got to make up your mind about.”

“Mac. I mean, it’ll be kinda hard on him, and a year’s a long time. Suppose I get out and he’s gone back to Ellen? Or that I can’t get him to go south with a jailbird at all?”

“If he’s that willing to leave you, you might as well find that out now. Before you spend any of this windfall on him, for instance. Is that it?”

“Yeah, I can handle the prison part. I’ve done that often enough. And this might be our only shot at getting out of here,” Jack says. “What is it they say, crime or the army or singing? We missed the boat on the army thing, and I sure can’t sing.”

She laughs. “I’d say, full speed ahead. But if you’re going to be out of circulation for a while, maybe stick around tonight. Might as well give you a proper send-off, right?”

“If he hears about this, Mac’s gonna be pissed.”

“Then make sure he doesn’t hear about it, honey. You know where the spare key is.” 

Aw, heck. Just this once. 

It’s not like he’ll have another shot at misbehaving with a lady any time soon.


	3. Chapter 3

It’s Tuesday night. Wednesday is visitor’s day; it’ll be the first time he’s seen Mac for nearly two weeks. Under the circumstances, Jack reckons, it’d be odder if he wasn’t having a wet dream. 

A pretty good one, too. Still in his prison cell, but with Mac nestled safely up against him. Shivering a little, in the blousy air; Jack lets him steal most of the blankets, holds him with sleepy tenderness.

“-no sign of any intrusion here. Are you sure?”

The guard’s harsh voice wakes him out of the dream instantly. Only- Mac doesn’t disappear.

He’s still in his jail cell, and there’s a stupidly tall barista underneath him, trying really hard to look like a lump of blankets. 

Not bursting out laughing at this point is about the hardest thing Jack’s ever had to do; and that Mac’s clearly terrified by his suppressed giggles only makes it funnier. 

“Nah. Coulda been a rat. Probably was.”

“Dalton’s stolen another blanket for himself? How many is that now?”

“Four? I don’t know how he does it. It’s no good taking them away from him, he’s like a magnet for creature comforts.”

They move on. Mac clamps a hand over his mouth, and doesn’t take it off for a solid twenty minutes. 

“What the hell are you doing here?” Jack whispers, as soon as he can. 

Mac shakes his head slightly. Produces a pocket notebook and a pen. 

_Had to know you were ok. Not like Mike._

_I’m ok. U crazy?_

_yes_

Well, that was blunt enough. _U gonna spring me?_

_No._

_Fuck?_

All he gets is a quizzical look. Jack takes a second look at the paper and has to admit that the question mark is more exclamation mark-ish. He rolls his eyes and goes for a kiss, instead. 

Mac catches on pretty fast. 

******************

“You stole my best SAK, before you left,” Mac says the next day. “I’m kinda annoyed about that.”

Jack smirks; he'd lifted it rather more recently than that. “You’ll get it back. In two years, or a year and a half if I’m on my best behaviour.”

“Then do that. It’s dull having to watch movies all by my lonesome.”

He’s still glaring, which is understandable. The Super Tinker is a very sweet model, worth a fortune in the prison economy. He’s thinking about renting it out by the day. 

“Hey, at least you get your pick. And a decent television. Our model’s black and white, and half the time it’s busted.”

“Maybe I could get them to let me fix that. I’ll ask.”

This isn’t really a line of thinking that Jack wants to encourage. Last night had been a sweet, unexpected surprise; but if Mac keeps hanging around the prison he’s going to get himself locked up next, and that’s just going to throw off everything. 

“It’s not that bad…”

“No, no. I’ll talk them into letting me do it. You watch.”

Oh, geez. This is not good. 

******************

Mac does it, too. And the chocolate hidden in the back of the tube melts a bit, but is pronounced edible enough by its sugar-happy consumers (bribing all and sundry lets him avoid the usual prison squabbling, which is more than worth the price).

Jack usually contrives to have a good time in stir. It’s a stable environment, and as dull as that can get there’s something to be said for three squares a day and no bills to worry about. And nobody’s sanctimonious in here, praise be. He can usually get a lay when he wants one. 

Also sometimes when he doesn’t want one. 

“It’s Tuesday. You know I don’t do anybody on Tuesdays.”

“You’ll do me this Tuesday, or however often else I want,” his cellmate says. (Jack has forgotten the guy’s name, and is perpetually worrying that this’ll land him in hot water one of these days) “Or else I let the guards know that your lover boy keeps breaking in- why don’t you just go with him already?”

“He won’t let me. Says I owe it to society to serve out my time. Ask him yourself, if you like.”

“What the hell do I want out there? I’m pretty well fixed up as it is. Especially with you for a cellmate.”

“Yeah, you might want to think about that. If one Tuesday is worth you losing those little goodies out of my care packages, when I get moved to a higher-security prison. Or what happens to you when all the other guys I treat hear that you squealed on me, just for spite. Like Big Eddie? You don’t really want to cross Big Eddie.”

It’s not like he dislikes the guy. Any other day of the week, it’s fine. 

His cellmate mutters a few unprintables. Subsides. (Phew.)

“Then if he’s going to be coming in here anyway, can he at least bring me a couple comic books?”

******************

_smuggling = mucho dinero!_

_‘m not a pack mule. No._

_c’mon, whole prison knows by now. Gotta keep them happy_

_This is wrong._

_so is you breaking into a prison every Tuesday! if you’re gonna do it, make yourself useful_

_Maybe I’ll stop doing it._

******************

“Ellen’s moved back in,” Mac says the next day. “We’re giving it a try, anyway. I might be busy for a few weeks.”

He is, and while he keeps sending care packages, Jack finds himself not a little miserable. Any halfway sane Missionary- well, any halfway sane local would never have let matters get to this point. But now he’s out of sight and out of mind, why wouldn’t Mac just drift contentedly onwards? Let himself sink deep into Mission City’s silence, lost once and for all. 

For years now, he’s been Mac’s lifeline out of that. Loudly and colourfully insisting on an Elsewhere. A bigger and better world than this one little town. Fighting a constant battle to keep his friend’s soul stirred up, discontented to be just another anonymous shopkeeper. 

(He can leave here, when his jail sentence is done; but what good will that do if Mac doesn’t even recognise the prison that’s trapped him?)

Jack’s never been subject to nightmares before, but he starts having a recurrent one now. Watching Mac lying in a hammock, eyes closed and mouth open and very peaceful, so peaceful he doesn’t notice the quiet snow falling. Down and around and covering him from sight, until he’s buried deep-

The third night it happens is a Tuesday, and his cellmate crawls into the bunk with him until he stops whimpering. Jack doesn’t protest afterwards, though all his chocolate’s gone missing the next day. 

Mac’s there at visitor’s hours, next day. “Didn’t work out. We couldn’t agree what to watch last night, and one thing just led to another...so she’s gone. We’re not trying that again.”

“Ah.”

“You don’t have to look that pleased about it.”

******************

His nightmares stop. The prison smuggling becomes a very tidy business, to Mac’s confusion and Jack’s delight. Not as profitable as it could be- he draws a line at drugs, or weapons. Or anything that he thinks could be turned into a weapon, which is an awfully exhaustive list. But it draws a nice sum, one way and another. (The guards have yet to catch on. Mac’s very good at what he does.)

Until the day the whole thing just falls apart. 


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "Second Chances" is, more or less, chronological, and intended to be read in series order. 
> 
> However, this chapter about the progression of Mac and Jack's relationship ended up discussing events set during and after "Sublimation". So if you haven't read that one yet, maybe go have a look and then come back to this.

Mac’s already written the first few sentences of the conversation, the way he does sometimes. _Don’t touch me._

His love for his niece is a clean thing. Uncontaminated. Not like what he has with Jack.

 _Allison’s dead. So’s Michael, so’s Chris. I’ve got to look after Becky._ _Staying in Mission City. Keeping the shop._

It’s a hard thing, not looking Jack in the face when they’re so close; but he manages somehow. 

Jack almost snatches the pad from him. _Let me help_

_No. Going to play it straight now. Every sense._

_Raised in a commune? Becky prob. saw worse than us when she was 3_

_Not the pt. Gonna keep her safe. No more smuggling._

It costs him more than he expected to write the next line. _No more movie nights. Clear?_

“I don’t want to see you anymore,” Jack says abruptly. 

Just plain says out loud, not caring who might hear- but that’s fair. He nods, keeps his face expressionless. 

So Mac’s not really sure what Jack’s seeing, to lend him that look of stricken horror. 

“Oh...dammit, Mac, I’m sorry. I’m sorry, I didn’t mean it. Just- not right now, it’s only a few months until I get out. Let me get used to the idea. And if that’s the way you want to play it, that’s the way it’ll be.”

_I’m not going back on this promise._

(Once he’s sold the jeep, he doesn’t even have the option.)

****************

Jack expects a lot of trouble, when his smuggling empire collapses overnight and the care packages stop; but people go surprisingly easy on him. Maybe because of his cellmate’s confirmation that Mac’s stopped coming. Maybe because, for the first time in his life, he goes so dull that he can’t even think up any jokes. 

He spends most of his time daydreaming about Texas instead. Soft lapping waters, and wide open spaces. All a bit blurry, after decades of revisiting the same memories. He needs to go make some new ones.

“Hope I won’t be seeing you again. No offense...you know, I still don’t know your name,” he says the last morning. 

“That’s fine, I don’t remember yours.”

Figures. “Got two candy bars left. Want ‘em?”

“I’ll take one.”

They eat the chocolate together. Sweet, with a slightly sticky aftertaste. It’d go well with a good harsh whiskey, like the one he’s going to treat himself to if Mac doesn’t come. 

“The guy’ll show up,” his cellmate says. “He promised you, didn’t he?”

“Maybe he’ll have forgotten about that.”

“He didn’t strike me as the type. Gotta hand it to him, that man was persistent.”

“There’s a niece for him to look after now,” Jack says gloomily. “His whole life’s gonna be wrapped up in her. There won’t be any room for me.”

“So get the niece to like you. Buy her another pack of candy bars, it should work just as well on little kids.”

“Doubt it’ll be that easy.”

It isn’t, what with Becky almost in tears and Mac collapsing before the day’s out. But on the plus side, they bond pretty quickly over ploys to look after her idiot uncle. 

She wants out of here just as bad as he does. Between the two of them, they’ll keep Mac on track. Get him out of Mission City, if they had to drag him kicking and screaming. 

“And I want to take at least one school night at the shop,” Becky says. “For the experience, as much as anything. Which day d'you think?”

What else would he say? What else could he possibly suggest?

****************

It isn’t quite the same as before. Mac finally moves the player back to his place, so that Becky can use it too, and picks up a few movies that aren’t Westerns for her to enjoy. Not that she ever raises any objections to those.

Because she’s in on movie nights too, now. She wanders in and out, making popcorn. Or asking searching questions, while she curls up next to them on the sofa. It takes Jack several months to realise with a certain bemusement that they’ve made themselves a sort of domestic cosiness. And with even greater bemusement, to realise he doesn’t mind. 

Because it isn’t judgemental; it isn’t about trying to live up to a perfect innocuous photograph in an aspirational magazine. It’s just the three of them, making a safe space to be happy in. Warm and safe together, close as family. Closer, maybe. 

Movie nights are also on Saturday night now. That way, they can all enjoy them while the shop’s closed. 

And Tuesdays? 

Tuesdays, Mac starts slipping down to his trailer again. Still drunk, but not so much these days. 

“Becky’s sort of cover, for us,” he says once. “People are so busy pitying her, and gossiping about her, and feeling sorry for her because she’s being brought up by her bachelor uncle who doesn’t know anything about how to raise girls. I mean, I don’t like it any more than she does. But it’s taken the heat off us, a bit.” He sighs. “I think she’s played up to it once or twice when people started giving us funny looks again, but I haven’t caught her at it.”

“Ask her. She’d tell you the truth.”

“Suppose she says yes, and I have to give her a talking to about not takin’ risks just to look after us? They say not to make rules you can’t enforce. I’m not sure I could stop Becky doing anything, that she thought would stop me getting hurt...though you know, there’s one thing everybody’s right about.”

“What’s that?”

“That I must be having a lot of trouble, raising a kid all on my lonesome. It would be just that difficult, if I didn’t have you ‘round to help me out.”

Jack finds himself flushing. “I don’t do that much. Maybe make her laugh, sometimes.”

“Some days, you can tease a smile out of her when even I can’t,” Mac says, resting against him contentedly. “And- just being there. Somebody at my back, if anything ever did happen to me.”

“Don’t you dare.”

“I’ll try not to.”

It isn’t Texas; but it’s been worse for all three of them. They can make it through. 

And it’s going pretty well, until theatre guy shows up.


End file.
